


Female Shadow Demon x NB AFAB Reader

by LesbianMonsterLover



Category: Monster Girls | Monster Boys, Original Work
Genre: F/F, Lesbian Sex, Nonbinary Character, Smut, Stoner Reader, demon lover, idk i don't think so but just in case, kinda creepy, maybe dubcon?, nerd reader, weed use, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 02:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20250667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LesbianMonsterLover/pseuds/LesbianMonsterLover
Summary: Female stoner introvert nerd finds a wardrobe with a poisonous spirit attached.  Wait, did I say poisonous?  I meant passionate.I have this marked as NB because there are no pronouns used to refer to the reader and the nickname from your partner is gender neutral.  I definitely reference female sex organs though wink wink nudge nudge.





	Female Shadow Demon x NB AFAB Reader

You’re sitting on your couch, furiously trying to mash through the desperation move of a boss fight. You have a joint pinched in your lips, and just as you’re approaching the last phase of this DM you’re startled by a knock on the door. “Ah fuck! Shit…” The joint falls from your lips onto the back of your hand, which makes you jerk your hand away from the controller. This means you fall out of your dodge roll sequence, take a spear directly up the ass, and die. Again. Back to the fucking unskippable cutscene - what kind of fucking sadist makes these unskippable in this, the year 20xx. 

“Lysanderoth! You were behind this!” The cutscene starts and you groan a little, taking another hit before you go answer the door. You’re greeted by a slightly sheepish looking dryad holding a green tote. A frantic, wide-eyed glance back tells you that yes, it is in fact already 5PM, and your delivery is right on time, you’re the one who’s completely lost the plot today. 

“Shit, Medi, I totally lost track of time.” The dryad’s barklike face splits into a smile, a rough chuckle lets you know they don’t mind. “Come on in, I won’t keep you long.”

“No worries, it shouldn’t take more than a minute.” Medi had been delivering to you since you moved to this neighborhood. A mulberry dryad, he and some of his kin had started a dispensary and delivery service once pot was legalized. As soon as he steps over the threshold of your apartment though, he stills, all of his leaves shuddering at once as if in a breeze. “Hey, uh, did you...did you get anything new since last week? Place looks...nice.” The delivery is stilted, but considering how awkward Medi usually is you aren’t too worried. 

“Yeah, actually. Just yesterday, I picked up a new wardrobe. It was in the window of that little antique shop on Carroll Street, I pass it on the way home from work most days. Anyway, this was in the window and something told me I needed to go in and take a look at it. You know there’s only one closet in this place for hanging clothes, I griped at you about it enough when you started pestering me about having my stuff lying all over the place. Anyway, isn’t it gorgeous?” 

It is gorgeous, after all. Beautiful dark wood, intricately hand carved in a motif of pomegranates and lilies stained a deep rich red-brown. The woman running the shop seemed happy enough to have it off her hands that she threw in free delivery and you were officially sold. It made you feel strangely elegant this morning, when you got to throw open the wardrobe doors and select your outfit for the day like you were in some kind of regency novel (okay, so the sweats and ratty old shirt didn’t exactly but the action with the wardrobe itself did). It made you giggle, the wardrobe made you happy. 

“Yeah...sure uh, sure is.” He seems to be giving it a wary look and you wonder briefly if maybe it’s made out of the same wood as his tree? Is that offensive? You bought it used! “Mahogany is good stuff, durable.” So, that takes that out of the running. Maybe the whole thing is just weird to him? You don’t get the chance to dwell on it though, distracted as you are by the spread of offerings he’s set out from his little bag of tricks. 

He’s in and out in about five minutes, the normal delivery time, and for a while you forget his weird behavior at the wardrobe letting yourself get engrossed in the boss fight. When you finally get through it, only for Lysanderoth to not actually be dead and come back to kill Archibald?! No thank you. Time to turn this off for the night. 

You settle into your bed, your studio apartment looking somehow huge and imposing in the darkness. Just enough ambient light to cast everything into relief, shadows creeping along the walls and ceiling. The creaks you hear you write off as the building settling. Right at the edge of sleep though, just as you tumble down into the abyss of unconsciousness, you feel a hand stroke through your hair. 

Waking the next morning to your blaring alarm you don’t even remember the odd caress, rolling yourself out of bed and dressing just enough to wander out to the donut place around the corner. Coffee and pastries purchased, you wander back home and boot up your computer to get to work. Working from home was a blessing and a curse in equal measure. The pro of setting your own schedule was also a con, knowing that keeping some sort of routine was important. Still, having gotten your final feedback in regards to your latest manuscript you were just on the precipice of a good break, which sometimes makes working harder conversely. 

You manage to fall into a sort of work trance, a habit your parents used to scold you for when you were in high school. You finally raise your head when you’ve blasted through the first half of the manuscript, only rising because your throat was begging for water and the large glass beside you had been drained of its dregs ages ago. The blackout curtains you forgot to pull back kept the studio in low light, only the glow of your laptop and desk lamp lighting the full space. 

As you walk over to the kitchen tap you vaguely notice the cracked door of the wardrobe. You could have sworn you closed it this morning when you left, but considering how hazy you were at the hour it’s entirely possible you forgot. You reach out with a foot on the way past and nudge it shut, filling your glass from the tap and taking a few large mouthfuls before filling it to the brim and walking back towards the desk. 

The wardrobe door is cracked open again. Curious you set down your water on the coffee table, opening the door fully and pawing through your clothes to find exactly what you expected - nothing. “Guess I better check the hinge later.” You make a mental note of it, and close the wardrobe door anyway before taking your glass and heading back to your desk. You work through the rest of the day, and it’s well past nightfall by the time you detach from your computer, ready to embrace at least the next few days of relaxation. You don’t worry when the wardrobe door is cracked again as you shut off your desk lamp and pass to the couch.

In celebration of finishing you roll up a joint of some rather expensive top-shelf stuff you’d bought from Medi. It was slightly magically infused, most humans never even had the opportunity to try it, but as a loyal and regular customer, who had been apparently surprisingly kind to the dryads and their nonhuman clientele, you were eventually afforded access to the crop they grew for those who couldn’t process normal marijuana. You’d describe the high as particularly fuzzy, it made all of your limbs feel like static in a way you thoroughly enjoyed. The sensation was relaxing, and it extended your perception of the world in a way that was particularly hard to describe. If pressed you’d say it was like looking at an “I Spy” book and picking out all of the objects immediately and without effort. Things just...jump out at you in a way that’s sort of unavoidable. It’s kind of no wonder they want to keep this stuff in their inner circle, considering what humans could do with this if they managed to figure out how it ticks. The human desire to weaponize everything was dangerous after all. 

Shunting yourself off of that track in your train of thought, you notice some odd ripples around the wardrobe, but they’re soothing somehow. Maybe that’s why the wardrobe called out to you? Some sort of residual energy that vibed with yours. You move on. This stuff always makes gaming interesting, you become considerably better at some genres (the only reason you have any sort of competitive rank in fighting games is because of this weed strain) and hilariously inept at others (the timing of platformers completely escapes you at this point, and you find everything on the sidelines of racing games distracting). 

Katamari seems like a good way to waste an evening, and after ordering some takeout you settle in for a good few hours rolling up stars for the inept-as-ever king of the cosmos. You fall asleep on the couch, a few roaches of regular weed littering your ashtray along with the few hits you’d pull from your magical stash. 

It’s pitch black when you wake up. You aren’t sure what wakes you, but the room is eerie in the muted black glow of the TV. There’s a sort of shape shifting out of the corner of your eye. You turn to find it, but it always seems to stay on the periphery of your vision. Blinking hard you sit up, rubbing the heels of your hands into your eye sockets before looking up again. Nope, still there. Maybe some lingering effect from the weed? You shrug it off. You’re sure if someone was watching this in a movie theater they’d yell at you like the usual horror protagonist. At ground level though, in real life in your home? It’s probably fine. 

You stumble up from the couch and dig the remote out from between cushions, shutting off the TV and walking the well worn path to your bed. The shiver that comes from you as you pass through a particularly chilly spot sends a spike of heat to your gut at the same time. You whine a little, too tired to do anything about it, and collapse into bed. Becoming a blanket burrito was one of your favorite rituals, and as you curl up in your little roll you feel comforted and safe. On the edge of sleep again you feel a hand ghosting through your hair, and you think a pair of yellow eyes somewhere on the periphery of your vision. You can’t focus on them though, and you fall into sleep again without protest. 

Waking the next morning, thankfully alarmless, your only memory of the figure last night is vague and fleeting. “I mean sleep paralysis is a thing” you mumble to yourself as you free one arm to fish for your cell phone on your bedside table. Flicking on the screen you squint and groan at the brightness, your apartment almost pitch black because of your curtains. You don’t think much of the loud thump and low hiss almost perfectly timed with the device turning on, the sound similar enough to your upstairs neighbor’s cat on days they really didn’t want to go to the vet. You tap out a few responses to your friends, having blown off the entirety of the world last night to relax on your couch, and start thinking about breakfast and the barren fridge waiting for you. “Guess I need groceries…” 

The low light of your bedside lamp is less garish than that of your cell phone but still makes you squint a little when you turn it on. You make yourself just presentable enough to go out to the store, writing off the caress you feel against your wrist when you reach into the wardrobe as clothes shifting against one another.

Now, if you were in fact in a movie, here’s where the narrative would split. You head off to the grocery store, your apartment mostly dark save for the bedside lamp dimly illuminating that little piece of space. The wardrobe door is silent as it cracks open and from the dark interior an opaque dark grey mist begins to coalesce on the floor. To call the shape vague would be an understatement; more of an undulating, roiling mass than anything definable. It coils along the floor, skirting the edges of the light and pooling itself into your bed beneath the duvet where it smells most like you. The creature and the darkness are one and the same, and it likes the warmth of you, of your essence. You make them feel calm, something they haven’t felt in what seems like eons. 

When you walk back in, laden with your necessities and everything you need to make pancakes, everything is as you left it other than the cracked open door of the wardrobe. You ignore it in favor of switching on your floor lamp and heading to your little kitchenette. The day is spent doing blissful nothing. Pancakes are made and eaten along with some fruit, you catch up on the show you’d been meaning to watch but had fallen to the back burner with work, play some more video games, smoke some more weed. All in all a very good first day of your planned week off. 

When you slip into your bed that night, curling back up in your duvet like a little sushi roll, you think to yourself that your sheets feel colder than usual. You enjoy the sensation of cool sheets against warm skin, so it doesn’t bother you too much, but it definitely sticks out a little bit. Maybe the building had finally cleaned out the HVAC system so the central cooling was working better, and you tell yourself to check the temperature you have the thermostat set to in the morning. 

Your dreams are vivid. More so than usual. You dream of paper white skin, of talon-tipped fingers that looked like they had been dipped in ink. Ruby red lips, searing yellow eyes, the flash of white teeth all sharp as glass. Someone moans your name against your ear, the soft press of breasts against your back, sharp talons pluck at your nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt. You feel burning hot when you wake, and without a second thought you kick yourself free of the duvet and shuck your pants down, your shirt is pressed above your breasts and you begin the slow exploration of your body. Your mind tries to grasp at the dream, bringing yourself to completion at the shattered imagery you can pull together from your mind’s eye. You have the distinct feeling of being watched, although you chalk it up to the vivid dream and your desire to have someone there with you. You put on a show for your imagined lover as you work yourself over, keeping quiet enough for your neighbors but exaggerating every expression and drawing out every caress. The satisfaction of your orgasm leaves you lying boneless on your mattress for a few minutes, panting and slightly sweaty. Rolling off of your mattress you think your apartment looks dimmer somehow, but perception is a funny thing, as is light refraction, so you don’t really question it too much. 

Now is probably a good time to mention that the sconce lighting in your bathroom had died ages ago. Your building had sent someone in to fix it, but the problem turned out to be so big that the building needed to rip that entire line of electric out starting from the ground up. Luckily they caught the problem before there was a fire, but it still meant you had to rely on candles to light your way in the bathroom. It did make the experience feel more sensual and intimate, but on some days that made it lonelier than ever to lie soaking in the bath or stand underneath the hot running showerhead. With a gusty sigh you use your lighter to strategically light a few candles around the room, outside of the bath. When you pull the curtain shut around you the light from the candles becomes a muted orange glow just outside the fabric. 

The darkness in the shower feels alive somehow, the rising steam from the water makes you feel like some exotic goddess stepping out of a hot spring. As you caress over your body you think you feel a ghostly hand just following your touch. The shudder that follows the length of your spine has gooseflesh break out over your arms and pebbles your nipples. Before you can process the feeling a new one takes hold. Something is behind you, you can feel the slow drag of some kind of nebulous solid as it coalesces up the back of your legs, along the roundness of your ass and the curve of your lower back, as it starts to rise up your torso the feeling creeps forward and almost envelops you. Along your ribs and over your breasts, cupping them lightly until they’re encased entirely in this hot mist. Up over your chest and throat, caressing your jaw and lips. You can still breathe, and move, but it’s almost like you’re wearing a suit made of a trillion tiny feathers, every inch where this stuff was in contact with your skin felt like it was being caressed continuously without rest. The wanton moan you let out elicits a breathy, feminine chuckle by your ear. 

The form behind you seems to gain some solidity, what had been a solid mist pressed against the back of your legs becomes a pair of legs itself, and where once had been a solid plane of this stuff there was slowly a lithe, familiar figure. When you glance down you see the same hands from your dream caressing your breasts, the feeling of her skin no less intoxicating than that of the mist but twice as hot. There’s a purr of your name as a pair of lips caresses along the side of your jaw and sharp teeth nip at the shell of your ear. Without preamble one of her hands detaches itself from your breast to push down your stomach and between your thighs, cupping your mound and just teasing a single finger between your lips to tease the head of your clit. “Oh God.” 

The growl against the side of your head should scare you, but it just garners your partner a submissive whimper and rush of slick heat to your core. “No. That name doesn’t get spoken here, lamb. If you’re going to call out for anyone you call out for me.” She emphasizes her last word with a harsh squeeze of your mound, those sharp talons just pinching into the sensitive, thin skin that separates your lips from the swell of your ass. You cry out ‘ah, fuck’, head lolling back onto a slender shoulder, your hands clenched and forgotten in the symphony of sensations she’s writing onto your body. She chuckles darkly. “Closer, lamb. Better. But I believe you were looking for Lilith.” When you whimper her name back at her she almost purrs in delight, nibbling at your earlobe before licking hotly into your ear. “Oh, lamb, you’re just asking for it aren’t you? Precious lost thing, don’t worry.” 

You aren’t sure what you’re expecting, but it certainly isn’t for her hand and forearm to turn back into that ethereal mist. It seems to surround you, caressing every inch of your labia and clit, pushing itself between your clit itself and the skin of your clitoral hood making you scream her name in pleasure as that buzzing sensation settled in. Your hands reach up then, blindly grabbing back at her and threading in her hair, making her laugh and press closer against you. “That’s it lamb, give yourself to me.” That mist begins to push itself into your pussy, sinking in slowly and filling every crevice inside of you, somehow expanding itself until you were pleasantly full, and not a single nerve ending was left untouched. You can only pant uselessly at the endless stimulation to every piece of you, and your fingers twitch in her hair as your jaw hangs open. You’ve lost motor function, you aren’t even entirely sure how long it’s been that she’s had that ethereal mist wrecking you from the inside out, but you do know that you shouldn’t even be standing considering you can’t feel your legs, but Lilith is keeping you right where she wants you somehow. You can’t question it, you can’t question anything, the only thing you can think of is Lilith. 

“I can feel you getting close, little lamb.” Her honeyed voice is lower, darker, and it makes your walls flutter around her magic. “Will you be good for me?” You try to nod your head, but all you can really manage is a manic sort of twitch and a choked sobbing whimper of pleasure. You’re sure the wrecked look on your face is worthy of any ahegao compilation, and as you scream Lilith’s name in release, sagging against her and whiting out with pleasure, you faintly hear her purr your name back at you but you’re lost to sleep shortly thereafter. 

You wake in bed, groggy and aroused. “Oh fuck, that dream.” You whimper a little, somehow still feeling the sting of what you were sure were phantom claws. You’re nude, although it wouldn’t be the first time you stripped off tiredly in your sleep if you got too warm. You begin caressing your breasts and down your stomach until you’re interrupted by a sultry voice from just beside your head. 

“I was trying to give you a rest, lamb, but if you’re so eager to begin anew, I cannot deny you anything, my lost little wanderer.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr under the same name as always! Join my discord! I hang out there and chat with some regularity!


End file.
